


a shadow falling

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble Collection, F/M, Growing Up, House Lannister, House Stark, House Targaryen, Marriage, Middle Ages, Political Alliances, Power Dynamics, Repurposing, Strangers to Lovers, The Long Night, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5282777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idyllic marriage of the realm's eldest Prince and his Northerner lady is a tale of summer days. Well-known and oft repeated, it is an encouragement for all the dwellers of the Seven Kingdoms.But winter is soon to follow and beneath the snow all flowers die.</p><p>AU! After an initially brilliant match between Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, the realm is shaken out of its peace by the first snow of winter and whispers of the otherworldly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

i. When Lyarra Stark hears that her daughter is going to King's Landing the cup of mead in her hands crashes to the floor. Her reaction would've been made more understandable if she'd followed with a small exclamation of joy. Instead dread is etched on her features. "Why?" she asks hurriedly, hands gripping her husband's arm. "Why would you send our little blue rose there?"

Rickard shrugs her hands away. "It is time for her to let go of her mother's skirts." He sits down. "She can familiarise herself with the other houses and perhaps even find prospective matches."

"Prospective matches?" the woman parrots. "Rickard, she is not at all interested in making matches."

"Not now, but she will be," he assures her with an ease which baffles Lyarra. "By making friends among these other girls, she will be recommended to brothers, cousins, heads of houses. All that with as little expense to us as possible."

"Well, it does make sense, I suppose." Except she still doesn't want her daughter to go. "But we could always find her a husband here."

"The King orders it, we must obey." And that is that, so Lyarra calls for a new cup of mead and sits down by the fire.

ii. Far from displaying her mother's grace when taking the news, Lyanna chokes on her water. Benjen laughs at her so hard that he falls off the bed. Despite knowing the pain he must be feeling, Lyanna throws one of her slippers at him. "But Nan, I do not want to go!" She looks at her caregiver for help.

"Your father has already made up his mind," her mother interferes. "You are to go to King's Landing and that is the end of it. It shan't be bad, Lyanna. There will be a lot of ladies your age, and I dare say you will be making many friends."

Friends indeed, the young woman thinks. Friends who will be talking and sewing and marriage and whatever it is that ladies talk about all day long. She'll go insane. Or at the very least she'll commit murder. That would serve her parents well.

"Is this because I refused Baratheon's offer?" She almost wishes she had accepted. But then again, she doesn't. Indeed, King's Landing is infinitely better than Robert's bed.

"Why do you ask? Have you changed your mind?" Her mother looks – dare Lyanna say it – hopeful.

"Not at all," she replies.

"Then King's Landing it is," Lyarra settles the argument.

iii. "If you want me to, I'll come there too," Benjen tells her quite seriously when he takes the time to between shoving cold meats and fresh bread in his mouth.

"Not with manners like yours," Lyanna mutters under her breath, daintily taking a bite out of her own food. But she is touched by his offer, so she gives him a smile, thanking the gods his hearing is not all that good. "You would?"

Benjen gives her a sidelong look and nods his head enthusiastically. "I could see the Kingsguards and become a squire."

And just like that Lyanna's elation deflates. The Kingsguards. She should have knows her brother wouldn't offer to come with her from the goodness of his heart. "I'm sure it would break our mother's heart, little brother. Nay, you must stay, and in the absence of Brandon and Eddard, be of help to our father and of comfort to our mother." Her little speech attracts the looks of their parents who are probably wondering if some sort of charm had been placed upon their daughter. Lyanna grimaces. She can be mature when the situation calls for it.

Sliding a piece of meat in her apron, Lyanna excuses herself from the table. She is no longer hungry. The meat she throws to the dogs when no one is looking.

iv. Nan is sent out of her room before she has finished braiding her hair, and Lyanna cannot help but give her mother a mildly irritated look. Lyarra, who knows her daughter all too well, ignores the glare and sits on the edge of the bed. "Let me finish that for you," she says softly, taking the braid and continuing the work. "Do you have anything you wish to ask of me, daughter?"

"Have you ever been there?" Lyanna grudgingly accepts her fate by now. "Is it very different from the North?"

"Not as much as you would expect," the mother replies. "It is certainly warmer, and there is a greater variety of flowers to be seen, if you care for those." Which her daughter doesn't, by the small sound she makes. "There are of course the Knights and Maesters that can be found there, not even mentioning the visitors from Essos."

That gets Lyanna's interest. "And they bring with them all sorts of wonders, don't they?"

"Ah, for sure. The market is always full there. But you shall find out when you get there." For which reason she hands her daughter a small purse of coins. "I have saved these for another occasion, but I think they will be better used in this one."

v. Lyanna is not the only girl going South. But she might as well have been, because she won't keep company with the Ryswell girls if she can help it. They are older than her and not particularly friendly. There are others she does not know. Lyanna hardly pays any mind to them. The Ryswells she knows simply because the younger sister – Barbrey she is called – has a fondness for her eldest brother, Brandon. She is almost sorry for then as Brandon is not the most constant of men. She would have done better to set her eyes on Ned. But then again, all the females tend to flock to Bradon for some reason that is still unclear to Lyanna – she can only presume they are desperate for a higher position, or otherwise blind to the quieter, but of much better quality charms of her second brother.

But she is stopped from further contemplating the advantages of a match with Ned – any woman would be lucky to have his love, for his heart once gives, is not likely to change – by a violent shaking of the wheelhouse. They must be stopping for a short rest. Finally; there is only so much a woman can take.

vi. Catelyn Tully is one of the few intelligent beings Lyanna is fortunate in finding amongst all the featherbrains she is forced to socialise with. Her sister though, is not so lucky. But Lyanna puts up with her from the moment Catelyn introduces them. "I do not mean to be rude," Lyanna says as they are stretching their feet near a small river, "nay, actually, I do mean to be rude; why exactly is your sister so very fond of speaking of this Petyr Baelish?"

The redhead shrugs. "She says she loves him, but father won't allow them to court."

"Then she should've ran away with him," Lyanna points out. Catelyn laughs at that. "You don't agree?"

"It is not that simple," she manages to get out. "Do you not know why we are going to King's Landing?"

It does occur to Lyanna that there is more to the situation than what her parents had told her, but she never did think they would send her into the fray without proper protection. Unfortunately that is exactly what they seem to have done. Lyanna looks at Catelyn and tries to calm her wildly beating heart, but even as the words leave her mouth, she can already taste the bitterness, "Why exactly are we going to King's landing?"

vii. There are gentle ways of breaking delicate news to maidens; ways that won't send them spiralling into a catatonic state for at least five minutes, but people with little experience are hardly suspected to possess such knowledge. So Catelyn is nothing but straightforward. "How can you not know that the Prince is looking for a wife?"

"How can I be expected to know anything like that?" Lyanna complains as she enters the wheelhouse that hold Catelyn and some other ladies of the Riverlands. "I though Targaryen married within their own House."

"Normally they do, but there are times when they venture past the limits of their extended family. I suppose the Prince just did not find someone," Catelyn offers with an enigmatic smile. "This is an opportunity."

"A curse, more likely," Lyanna murmurs. "But surely he does not need all the noble ladies of the realm to be presented before him."

"I'm sure he doesn't, but his father seems of another opinion," Cat counters. "My lord father told me it was actually King Aerys who pushed to have us all in the Capitol."

As if that helps Lyanna any. "Ah, I see," she says for lack of anything better. "Then we can do naught but comply."

viii. "This is ridiculous!" Lyanna exclaims as she spies a girl of thirteen climbing out of a wheelhouse. "You weren't joking when you said all the noble maidens of Westeros were invited." And she uses the term invited loosely. "Look at her. I bet she's not had her moon's blood for longer than a couple of moon turns."

Catelyn nods her head in sympathy. At nine-and-ten she is ready for marriage. Lyanna at her six-and-ten can too be considered a candidate, but some of the girl here are probably not past the time when a doll is an appreciated gift. "He is not likely to choose any of them."

Lyanna almost rolls her eyes. Catelyn is good-looking, tall and slender, with a river of flaming hair and big blue eyes, and she is genuinely sweet, if a bit forceful when she makes her arguments. If she were a man, Lyanna is sure she would be conquered by the eldest Tully sister's charms. As it is, the two of them are on good terms, on the way to becoming fast friends. "Nay, he isn't." The better she think on it the more it makes sense that the Prince would wed someone like Catelyn Tully.

ix. King's Landing is the kind of place that impacts one strongly upon first viewing it; by which Lyanna means that one either loves the Capitol or hates it. "It is not as bad as you expected, is it?" Catelyn asks as they pass Baelor's Sept.

"It is certainly impressive," Lyanna confesses. She is in awe of it. "But what I really want to see is the market."

Lyanna is content to admire whatever they pass. The North is big, true, but it does not boast the elegance of the Sothern courts. The North is old and grand, but sometimes the new and beautiful is a welcomed sight. Not that Lyanna means to be at all enchanted by this life. She just finds that some aspects appeal to her – and it might not be a bad thing. She thinks of her mother's words. It seems Lyarra Stark was right about something – not that Lyanna does want to admit it, even in her own mind.

But beautiful or not, she will return to her own home. Determination burns inside of her. Her parents must have been aware that she has little chance of catching the prince's attention, which is why they did not even mention anything to her.

x. Is it possible for one's head to implode from anger? Lyanna certainly thinks so. The reason stands a few feet away from her. The creature is apparently named Cersei Lannister. She is the daughter of the Lord of Casterly Rock – the same man who us the King's hand. Of course that is no excuse for her behaviour, despite what the she seems to think.

"You could leave the poor girl alone," Lyanna comments, coming between the lioness and her prey. "She certainly didn't do anything to you." She doesn't want to have to bare her fangs on the first day, but the Lannister girl can't really seem to care about the wishes of others.

What Lyanna doesn't know is that if on her little brother scratching and biting works, it doesn't on ladies. Here the weapons are smiles and eyes and jewels and pretended coyness. But she find out soon enough. Cersei huffs and crosses her arms over her – ample, to Lyanna's chagrin; the other is only a year older in age, but many more in body – chest. "Just keep out of my way, and I won't have you flogged."

"That shouldn't be difficult at all," Lyanna returns, taking the other girl's hand – because the one she protects is really just a child – and departs, Catelyn following them with Lysa in tow.

xi. Rhaegar is not sure if he should be amused or horrified at his parents' latest scheme. He opts for the former, if only because the latter would make him run back to Dorne – and that is never a good sign; if he, a warrior, tucks tail and runs from a few young ladies, what exactly does that say about him.

Oberyn grins. He finds this much too amusing to keep quiet. "So, are you still of a mind that you should not have taken that ship to Pentos when you had the chance?"

The Prince rolls his eyes. "Coming from you, Oberyn, that sounds a lot like you rather want to assume my responsibilities. I am sure you family can do something similar for you if you ask them." The Seven know Rhaegar didn't even have to ask his. He gives the laughing man to his right a withering look. "I just cannot believe they would do something like this."

"Well, you're not exactly getting any younger," Arthur points out. "And you do need an heir."

"I have Viserys," Rhaegar replies.

"I mean an heir of your own. Or at least a wife. It's a simple matter of public image."

xii. There are times when Rhaegar wonders why he didn't marry Elia Martell when he had the chance. This is one of those many times. His mother gives him a winning smile, which Rhaegar feels obliged to returns. "How was Dorne, my son?" she asks, embracing him. Unfortunately, Elia is happily married and in no position to offer him any help with avoiding his mother's tricks – because he cannot imagine his father coming up with this on his own.

"Dorne was wonderful," he answers in a short manner. He doesn't dare question her yet about the abundance of women that seem to have appeared out of nowhere. "How have you been?"

"Very lonely without you." The Queen gives him another smile. "I have taken the liberty of gathering some noteworthy maidens here. I hope I need not elaborate. You know your duty, my son." Which is to say she does not wish to have to force his hand, but if the need arises she'll not hold back. "Have I made myself clear?" His parents do love him, and Rhaegar is sure they mean well, but he is not exactly thrilled. "At least don't run away like last time."

"That I can do," he promises.

xiii. Promises are double-edged swords. Unfortunately for him, Rhaegar can already feel the blade piercing his skin. It seems he cannot walk anywhere around the Red Keep without coming upon a couple or two of tittering young women. It doesn't bother him that they are here, only that they can't seem to do anything intelligent – because no one will ever convince him that he can fall in love with a pretty face and an empty head.

How can his mother not see they are mere baubles to a man like him? He needs a woman he can talk to, not an ornament.

A more religious man would look for salvation in the Sept, Rhaegar merely asks his mother how soon he can start actually looking at these women. Aye, he is that eager to send them back home. Hopefully it can he achieved in a short time, or he might go insane.

"You should look at this like the opportunity it is," Arthur tries to help him see the good in the situation.

"The opportunity to learn more about stitching, you mean?" He receives an annoyed look for that. "Would you feel any more comfortable than me?"

"Probably not," his friend acquiesces.

xiv. He does try to pay attention, he really does. Rhaegar cannot seem to follow the decidedly one-sided conversation lady this or that carries on by sheer force of will it would seem. He nods his head and smiles – it would be rude not to. Who is she again? A Duskendale? A Westerling? A Spicer? He has no idea. He must be coming off as shy because the girl actually slides this much closer to him. Rhaegar barely manages not to let his smile slip. He halts her process by distracting her attention. "And you do not miss your family, my lady? Coming from such a loving environment, you must find their absence a bit perplexing."

"I suppose I do, my lord" the blonde replies with an easy smile. "But I am very happy to be here."

"Indeed?" he hopes to make her talk and forget about coming closer.

It works marvellously, but his eardrums are not thanking him. His head won't either by the time he is through. This is what the circle of the damned must feel like; he resolves to have more food the next time around. A lady wouldn't eat and speak at the same time – at least he hopes so.

xv. As it turns out he doesn't need the food. The next lady he meets is a child. He looks at the slight – he can't call her woman – girl and smiles. He does not need to dissuade her from trying her seduction skills on him, the child can barely string two words together in his presence, so he somehow steers the conversation to a topic she is sure to be comfortable with.

This one he doesn't even seriously consider and wonders if his mother had spent too much time in the sun. He will have a word with her about trying to get him to wed girl old enough to be his daughters. But for now he smiles at the enthusiasm with which his guest recounts her adventures shared with older brother and younger sisters.

By the end of this meeting he is in a better mood and confident that he can face the other candidates without whishing to slam his head into a wall, repeatedly. He is sure she will find a good man one day, the little lady who now smiles shyly at him from behind a glass of iced milk. He barely manages to swallow his laughter at the thought of marrying someone like her.

xvi. The stables are one of the few places in which he is in no danger of meeting potential brides. Or at least so Rhaegar thought up until today. He hasn't exactly been counting on the fact that some of the young ladies might be interesting in the horses – not because it is impossible, but he just assumed they were keeping the company of one another and not really allowed to go wherever they want. The woman looks over her shoulder, but at first seems to miss him even as her eyes pass over him. She hums softly – a song Rhaegar is not familiar with. But her mistake is short-lived, just like his elation.

She turns around with a sharp move. Her mouth opens as if she wants to say something, but she cannot seem to make a sound. She stands there frozen. Rhaegar mirrors her. And so they remain until somehow the woman finds enough of her voice to let out a shriek.

Rhaegar's confusion is quickly to be removed. The horse seems to hold a fondness for its mistress' hair. "Does this look like straw to you?" she yells at the animal, trying to pull away. But by raising her voice she seems to have startled it.

xvii. Rhaegar helps her because it is the right thing to do – but not before taking the time to let himself be amused. It's not an easy task as he isn't all that great with horses, especially untrained ones like the colt who has developed such an affection for the maiden's hair. Yet Rhaegar cannot figure out just how he could've confused wit with straw. It may be straight, but the colour is dark and it is not at all rough.

By the time he manages to convince the animal to let go, the lady has stopped shaking and seems to have retreated into a space all of her own. She barely even notices when her hair is free. Rhaegar actually has to call her attention.

He expects to be thanked, or at least given a name – and right so, he has spent the better part of an hour helping her. But it seems the maiden is of another opinion for her eyes widen, her face turns – a rather fetching – shade of red and she turns around and bounds away. She is fast on her feet, he'll give her that.

The Prince looks after her and blinks slowly. "What in the name of the Seven?" He looks at the horse. "I don't think she likes you very much."

xviii. He will not think about the mysterious lady from the stables, Rhaegar tells himself as he waits to meet the next woman his mother wants him to consider. But Rhaegar has always liked a good mystery. He cannot help it that his mind itches to know who that woman is. The evening is a struggle. He wants nothing more than to send this girl back to her rooms, pretend an illness or a sudden bout of anything. How can women talk so much and yet say so little? She is good looking, aye, but her conversation leaves something to be desired.

There are flowers in her hair. She is blonde, a light shade, and the flowers are white. He should compliment her on those. If he can pitch a word in that is. The woman hardly seems to mind his silence, but thankfully she keep well away from him. He thinks that she rather had someone waiting for her already.

"You should have refused the invitation," he says. "It could have hardly been expected of you to break a contract of long standing. Even an unspoken one."

"My parents certainly seemed to be of a different opinion." But she thanks him profusely for his understanding and benevolence – and Rhaegar is baffled, because such qualities should not be an exception.

xix. Arthur tries to act like he is not interested. "And why exactly are we standing here?" He sits on a lump of hay, not at all bothered by Rhaegar's pacing. "You should probably slow down, and the stable hands are starting to stare."

"Let them," Rhaegar responds. "So you haven't been able to find out anything at all?"

"Nay. It would surprise even you to know how many dark haired women pass through here." The sarcasm is not lost on Rhaegar, but he chooses not to retaliate, which only leaves Arthur the option of going on. "She is one of the ladies, so you'll eventually meet her. Why are you in such a hurry?"

"So you could ask me." This makes his friend pause. "I do not like not knowing."

"Aye, that is quite clear. But she is not likely to be back here. Didn't you say she ran from you as if the hounds of hell were chasing her?" Arthur laughs much to Rhaegar's vexation.

"If you weren't one of my oldest friends, I would have you flogged," he tells the other man. They both know those are empty words.

"If I didn't know you any better, I might just think you would."

xx. Rhaella seems to have a special talent of knowing when her children try to hide something from her. Matters are no different when it comes to her firstborn. "Have you met anyone you would consider acceptable?"

Rhaegar chews slowly – perhaps ever slower, just so he can have a few more moments to think. Rhaella allows him this short moment s of peace. "They are all of them accomplished young ladies. I am quite unable to say anything concrete."

"Then why exactly do I hear you are looking for a particular young lady among them?" She's caught him. By the look on his face he hadn't expected this. Even when they think they are subtle, men aren't.

"I have my reasons," her son finally says. "And I won't be discussing them anytime soon, lady mother."

So she allows him to keep his secrets awhile longer. This interest of his in a young lady is nothing short of encouraging. Content for now, she return to the food on her plate. But she does give her husband a triumphant look. Aerys looks decidedly uncomfortable. No doubt he is once more disconcerted by his wife's scheming. He should've known her by now. He looks just about ready to give up on her.

xxi. Rhaella considers herself a bright women – if not downright smart, but she has always been told that modesty is appreciated in a woman, for which reason she won't boast – and rather reasonable. She cannot be anything but, what with her three children – four even if she counts her husband – and their constant need for supervision.

"Viserys, don't pull your sister's hair!" she says over the racket of a vase crashing to the floor. "If the two of you don't behave, you'll get no lemon cakes." A look of pure, unadulterated horror crosses the faces of her younger children, followed by disbelief. "I mean it." She doesn't actually, but it's the only way she'll ever get them to stop. Rhaella, for all that she pretends to be a hard taskmaster, hasn't ever even struck her children.

Perhaps that is why they find it so easy to eschew her directions and do exactly as they please. Rhaella is left with no alternative but to call on her hidden weapon. "Put an end to this tomfoolery or your father shall hear about this!" Time stands still and two pairs of violet eyes are fixed on her in dismay.

Finally, some well deserved peace and quiet.

xxii. The Queen congratulates herself on the well-thought out plan. At the same time she keeps her hopes in check. Ah, her son may be cooperating for now, but who can tell when Rhaegar will find it all too much and flee on the first ship to Essos. She is violently attacked by images of her son in ratty clothing, forced to win his bread by selling his sword – the gods know he is good enough to pull it off. But before the full horrifying future can settle in her mind, Rhaella remembers that Rhaegar did promise he will stay until the end.

How very good for her. The mother wonders if she ought to catch a sudden chill or complain of a weak heart – Rhaegar is a loving boy, despite the frequency with which he finds it compulsory to leave once she so much as hints at settling down or grandchildren.

She can hardly wait until it comes Viserys' turn and then her daughter's. Who would do for little Daenerys? Someone young and handsome, and brave. And loving and gentle. Realising that the moment won't come for some time, Rhaella curbs her excitement. "Rhaegar first, and after that we'll see."

xxiii. The marriage between herself and the King was not of her choosing. But Rhaella has learned to live with it, and she is quite comfortable where she is. After three children and almost thirty years between them, it would be foolish to long for anything but what is. So when Aerys enters her rooms, silent as a shadow, she can do little but shiver at his approach. It is not a bad shiver – it's just her body signalling her husband's presence. She greets him cheerfully. His reply is a grunt.

"Now what could have put you in such a foul mood?" she asks, taking him by the hand. "Don't tell me Viserys has been playing with the quills again."

"Nay, the quills are – or rather were in good condition the last I saw them," he answers shortly. Rhaella waits for him to continue. He doesn't.

"I would like to pint out that while we may be close, we are not yet of one mind. I cannot tell what you are thinking if you won't speak to me." Her words are accompanied by a glare. There are times when she thinks he is just as bad as his sons and can only pray Daenerys resembles her alter on.

xxiv. A point of contention between the two of them, her eldest son's marriage crops up again. "Must you be so insistent? He will wed when he feels the need to."

"He will never feel the need to," she replies crossly. "When the likes of Oberyn Martell and Arthur Dayne stand by his side and pull him into all sorts of Dornish pursuits, one can hardly be surprised." There has always been something she didn't quite like about those two, but Oberyn Martell holds a special place in her dislike ever since he dared express a very lewd and inappropriate wish as pertaining to her somewhere in the vicinity of the court ladies. She knows that rules differ from region to region but a little decorum would be most welcome even from such free lovers as the Dornish.

"Not that long ago you were quite adamant that he wed a Dornish bride, need I remind you?" Pointing out her past positions never really makes her any more amenable to letting go of a matter, so the only result it all yields is Rhaella's growing red in the face and quite vocal in her complaints of her son's choice accomplices. "There, there, woman."

xxv. When a woman starts speaking she stops only for two reasons; generally they are: either she has finally made her point or she has worn her victim down as she takes a moment to savour the victory. Rhaella stops the very moment Aerys' lips touch hers. She was in the middle of pointing out the nefarious influence those so called friends have on her son, when her dearest husband sees fit to interrupt her. This one time she will put up with it – only because she quite likes being kissed.

"Why that was the single most rudest thing you have –" she is interrupted yet again.

"I have all night," Aerys tells her with a small smirk, "and if you insist on being difficult even some on the next morning. Our son is a grown man, my dear. Isn't it time you allowed him his freedom of choice?"

"He'll squander it." This time she is the one to initiate the kiss. "I am simply trying to put him on the right path."

"And a wife will accomplish that how?" Aerys questions, clearly not seeing her point.

"You would ask me that?" She is needled, but amused at the same time.

xxvi. Aerys takes his time calming down his wife. He wishes at times that she displayed more maturity – and is rather put out when an image of Joanna Lannister springs to mind – but he does confess there are some advantages to her plotting brilliant mind.

There is certainly never a dull day spent at her side. He wonders where she gets all her energy from. "Somehow, I don't think out son appreciates your meddling as much as you think he does."

"He'll thank me later," his wife assures him, nails scarping gently at his back as she sits on his lap in the chair by the fire. Her fingers take a piece of blood orange and hold it up to his lips. He accepts the morsel. "I don't expect him to fall to his knees and thank his maker-"

"You don't? How interesting." His comment is not appreciated. Rhaella eats the next piece of blood orange – though she doesn't like this fruit all that much.

"Nay, I don't." She is silent for a few moments and just when Aerys was getting ready to think himself the victor she turns the situation around. "You encourage him. If only you would take a firm hand with the boy, he wouldn't act like he does."

xxvii. He should have just chosen a woman to wed his son to, Aerys realises as the sun comes up. Rhaegar would have been much happier. Rhaella would have been ecstatic. And Aerys himself thinks that indeed he would have slept all the better for it. But he hasn't. So now he must watch his son struggle through endless interweaves with lady and after lady, no doubt wishing for salvation.

"How will you ever meet the suitable lady if you lock yourself in the library?" the King asks his son, who is startled slight by the sudden appearance. "You do realise your mother will hunt you down and drag you out herself if you are not down by the time she has finished breaking her fast, do you not?"

"Ah, of course." He is no stranger to his mother's handling, after all, and not at all stupid. "I was just hoping for a few more moments of silence." Rhaegar stares at his father. "Could you not have stopped her?"

"Think you I did not try?" When has anything been able to stop his wife? "Nay, my son, 'tis best we comply and do as she bids." Or face her wrath, which Aerys doesn't want to do."

xxviii. It seems that no one is inclined to take pity on him today, Aerys thinks as even Tywin Lannister hints subtly at matches. "It would benefit us both." And Joanna Lannister smiles somewhere at Casterly Rock, no doubt glad that she has put her husband up to this.

"Indeed," Aerys agrees lightly. Don't they know it is his son that will make the choice and not him? He would laugh if he didn't worry that it would shock Tywin into an early grave. "Is there anything else we should discuss, or have made quite enough decisions for today, my lords?"

They don't exactly look like they don't have anything to say. No doubt all of them have daughters of marriageable age and are willing to foist them upon his oldest son – even the younger one if it doesn't work on the first; let it not be said that the lords of the realm are greedy. While it is commendable that they hold the fate of the realm in such high regard, but Aerys does whish they would show some discretion.

He stands from his seat and leaves the small council with a headache coming on. He dearly hopes his son hurries.

xxix. "Ladies," he murmurs as he passes three young woman. They giggle and Aerys barely holds himself from pointing out that a greeting curtsy should be lower.

The next lady he finds in crouching on the ground, seemingly very interested in the grass. Either that, or she is quite simply out of her mind. "Are you looking for something, my lady?" he asks, signalling for Gerold Hightower to offer her a hand should the need arise.

The young woman looks up and flushes immediately. She jumps to her feet and curtsies – an exemplary demonstration. "Your Majesty." Her voice shakes. "Is he that terrifying?"

"Well, my lady, do you require aid?" he questions again when she fails to answer.

Bright eyes regard him curiously. "I seem to have misplaced my brooch, Your Majesty. It is hardly fair that I detain your valiant guards for so small a trifle."

It is settled. Gerold steps over the low bushes and it occurs to the King that the woman is quite uncomfortable. And how could her brooch have ended all the way down here. Ladies usually prefer the rose garden. Abashed the woman allows Ser Gerold to kneels next to her and describes the lost object to him. Ah, she is a Stark then.

xxx. "I am not certain I should be asking, but why exactly does our daughter have to accompany her brother?" Aerys is reluctant to hand Daenerys over to the Septa, and his daughter even more so to let go of her father. Rhaella is determined to have her way. "Rhaella, why?"

"Because Daenerys hardly ever manages to spend much time in her older brother's company," his wife tells him, mouth pinching in a thin line. "And it would be nice to spend an evening with Viserys and not have them trying to outdo one another in causing mischief. Rhaegar, please!"

"Very well, mother." Daenerys is glad for his acceptance and is well pleased to e taken in her brother's arms. Aerys rather thinks she would go to the arms of anyone that is not her Septa – except for maybe Viserys on account of pulling her hair.

"What are you planning?" he finally gathers the courage to question her after they are alone. "Rhaegar must entertain the lady he meets, not have her watch his sister."

"I merely want to know how the ladies react to children," the Queen offers.

Aerys can do little but beg the gods that the woman his son meets will take good care of his daughter.

xxxi. "Don't do it," Catelyn tells Lyanna seriously as the younger woman takes aim. The mashed peas in her spoon are about to drip over. "She more trouble than she's worth. Is there anything to be won by it?"

"Only revenge," Lyanna replies, her eyes going back to the target. "She threw my brooch out the window. It was my grandmother's." The distraction makes her hand slip and the green food falls on her dress. Lyanna mutters something under her breath and fills another spoon with the substance. "Don't even try to speak to me about mercy; this is far less than she deserves."

She did trip that poor Tyrell girl down the stairs. She could have broken her neck. Lyanna thinks it would be a real pity if no one tried to put the blonde witch in her place. The food flies from its temporary container. As it turns out her aim is not quite perfect. But the green stuff ends up smeared on Cersei's shoulder, and that's good enough for Lyanna. "And that's not even mentioning the straw she dumped on me. Do you know a horse actually started feeding on my hair?" She is still irritated by that episode.

xxxii. Cersei comes rather like a storm. She stomps her way to Lyanna's table, cheeks red and dress stained. "How dare you?" she spews, grabbing Lyanna by the shoulders. Her sharp nails sink into the other's skin despite the protective layer her clothing offers. "If you cannot behave in distinguished company then perhaps you should stay in the stables with your brethrens, you Northern mare!"

But Lyanna is not easily intimidated; she knocks her plate in Cersei's direction, spilling even more food on what looks to be an expensive dress. "My hand slipped," she says without any real apology in her voice. "Are you aware of how thieves are punished, Lady Lannister? Or has your father not told you, yet?"

"You cannot prove anything," Cersei hisses even as her face turns pallid.

"Then don't make me search for proof. I told you I do not want to get in your way, and I won't, so long as you stay out of mine." This is the last truce Lyanna offers. "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

The lioness bares her teeth, but she accepts the terms – albeit grudgingly. Yet she still gives Lyanna a chilling glare.

xxxiii. A yelp leaves Cersei's mouth as her leg collides with the edge of Catelyn's chair. "I am so sorry!" the Tully girl offers her sincerest apology. "I hope you are not hurt." Cersei simply glares at her too and stomps away, followed by two girls that seems to be her shadows. "Now she won't leave you alone."

"I know." Yet Lyanna does not seem bothered even when admitting to it. "But how long can we be here for. It's been only a couple of weeks and almost half of us have seen the Prince by now. What is half a moon, anyway?"

"With Cersei, probably unbearable," Catelyn appreciates with a sly smile. The girls at the table laugh. Most of them have suffered some slight or another at the hands of the lioness. "I would watch my back."

"She's already embarrassed me in front of all the persons that mattered. The only thing I have to do is endure a few hours in the Prince's company and then I'll be free to go home and I shall not have to see her face again." Lyanna smiles sweetly at the thought.

It all seems very reasonable. A pity fate has other plan in store.

xxxiv. Catelyn smiles sympathetically when Lyanna finds her bed has been doused in water. She does not mean to tell Lyanna that she knew this would happen, and by the look on her face Lyanna will not appreciate her pointing it out. "You can share with me and Lysa if you do not mind." Her offer is met with a ridiculously thankful smile. She doesn't think Cersei will stop here, but the very least she can do id offer Lyanna some help. "What will you do to her this time?"

The Stark closes her eyes for a moment. "Nothing," is her reply. "I shall let her enjoy this victory of hers. I don't exactly mean to start a war here." It must be killing her, Catelyn decides. "Besides, I wouldn't wish for her to turn on you too. She could do some real damage and I would feel very bad indeed if I ruined your chance at queenship."

"You are quite convinced he will choose me." But the rumour is the Prince is looking for a certain someone amongst them. Catelyn wonders who he is searching for. "You should mind the other candidates too. You could actually impress him if you tried."

xxxv. Lyanna doesn't want to impress anyone. She shifts under the covers, pushing Lysa's hand away. Good gods, she even dreams of Baelish. This is getting out of control. Shoving her towards her sister, Lyanna turns around hoping she won't be taken for the elusive lover – which has quite gotten on her nerves by now, so much so that she hopes he remains elusive. She will drag them to a Septon herself if she has to; anything to stop Lysa from talking in her sleep anymore.

The cover leaves her body quite abruptly. Lyanna yelps at that and turns around once more to recover what is her due. She elbows the younger Tully – albeit gently – and thinks the girl could sleep through an attack led by the barbarians of Essos. The corner finally happens in her hands.

This night is not going to be an easy one, Lyanna can tell. But she grits her teeth and moves closer to Lysa. As if this is the moment she had been waiting for, Lysa's arm shoots over Lyanna's waist and pulls her uncomfortably close. She whispers something nonsensically about sweet Petyr Baelish whom Lyanna is going to kill when she finally meets him.

xxxvi. Rhaegar is happily taking in the woman before his eyes. She is not a wit, but he is having fun. The lady entertains him with the difficulties of court life. "I do not understand how the lady could do something so unladylike. But her aim was not off."

"And who exactly was her unfortunate target?" he asks, taking a sip of his wine so as to not seem to eager. He is certainly sorry to have missed the event. He should convince his mother that they ought to hold a small ball – or something of the like – just to see the dynamics.

Janney Whent smiles. "Cersei Lannister. That much I do know." The perpetrator is unknown to the lady much to Rhaegar's disappointment, but to hear that Cersei Lannister was the target of such an assault makes him temporarily forget that. He lets out a sift chuckle. "I'm afraid Lady Cersei was not half amused, my lord." He gives a curious look and Janney continues, "I've heard her retaliation was not long in the making. There are many rumours of what exactly it entailed; alas I am not certain just how horrible it was. But I shall yet discover it."

xxxvii.A flurry of forgettable faces parade before him for the days to come, and Rhaegar starts despairing of ever finding the lady that hasn't quite left his mind yet. He has noticed that the more important houses have been left towards the end. So he naturally comes to the conclusion that she is indeed of an elevated status. Of course, that in itself means very little to him.

He wonder when he will finally meet her. She is more elusive than dragons, he swears – and he might be happier to find her than to find those fire breathing beasts, anyway. He has been visiting the stables regularly in hopes of catching even a glimpse of her. It's so bad that even Arthur is at a loss by now. Oberyn tries to make light of the situation and earns himself a glare or two and an irritated monologue from the Prince he calls friend. They are quite baffled by his impatience as Rhaegar is arguably the more even tempered out of the three of them and the least likely to show his emotions.

"I bet he won't wait longer than the end of the month before he finally gives up and just looks for her on his own."

xxxviii. Catelyn Tully wonders what has the man before her so distracted. She perceives that the stream of conversation is held more by her than by him. He is not at all impolite, yet not interested either. Her pride smarts, but she recognises a lost cause when she sees one. "If I do not speak out of line, who is she, my lord?"

"I beg your pardon?" He is startled by her frankness, violet eyes burning into hers. "Lady Tully, what are you speaking of?"

"About the lady on you mind, my lord," she replies simply.

"I do not know. She did not give her name." And Catelyn is struck by Lyanna's story about meeting the current Lord of Dragonstone at the stables. "I am usually not this distracted."

"I am certain you are not, my lord." She is quite at a loss. Should she say something? Lyanna would not want her to, but then again Lyanna doesn't know what's good for her. She wrestles with her doubts and tries to find a good way to reveal her knowledge. She doesn't know how to proceed. And what if it is not Lyanna he is thinking about?

Catelyn waits for a sign.

xxxix. Oberyn is this close to taking his friend's harp and throwing it into the path of stomping aurochs. Rhaegar is melancholy. He understands. Actually he doesn't understand, as he doesn't dwell of matters that are beyond his helping. If there is something he cannot have he simply moves on to something that he has access to. "Dayne, make him stop, or I won't be held responsible for my reaction."

Arthur wisely keeps his mouth shut – at least as far as Rhaegar's behaviour is concerned. "He'll get over it." There are not so many ladies left, two dozens at most. "Bear it a while longer, Oberyn." The apathy of his friend's doesn't worry him nearly as much as Oberyn's threats. Rhaegar will eventually find his s mile again when he sees this mysterious woman of his, or he'll run away in search of her if she isn't anywhere among those ladies.

"Play something that doesn't make me want to have my own coffin made," Oberyn explodes, no longer able to take it.

Rhaegar ignores him. It's a useful enough skill when one deals with stubborn Dornishmen, yet something tells Arthur that Oberyn is a notch above others of his own kingdom. Arthur closes his eyes and tries not to be amused at the suffering of others.

He fails miserably.

xl. "I think you're scared," Barbrey accuses Lyanna as she creeps back under the covers. "And rightly so, that Lannister girl could crush you." There is something spiteful about the way she says it. Lyanna rolls her eyes and pulls the covers over her head, hoping to block her voice. "It doesn't really matter even if you stuff wool up your ears, little she-wolf, the threat won't go away." She can hear the older woman chuckle.

Why did she return to his room again, Lyanna wonders. Her legs stretch out. Ah, that's why. At least she won't have to share the bed with Lysa – nay, Lyanna will happily leave the sisters to share the bed and she will take this one here, even if she does have to listen to Barbrey Ryswell's talk. She takes comfort in the knowledge that she won't have to endure all these persons she never likes. The Prince is bound to find himself a woman he liked enough so that he may wed and the rest of them may go home.

But before she sees Winterfell again, Lyanna really wants to pay Cersei back for her latest trick. Her mind searches for the perfect revenge. So many ideas, so little time.


	2. Chapter 2

i. "I said nay," Lyanna replies firmly, brushing away Lysa's hand. "You needn't go through all the trouble." The young woman pouts, and gives her a disapproving look at the same time. Lyanna can hardly resist the urge to roll her eyes. They fuss over nothing.

"You have to at least try," Catelyn joins her sister in persuading Lyanna to allow them to help. "You don't know that he won't like you best."

Lyanna gives Catelyn a thoroughly nonplussed look. "You think he'll look twice at me after he's seen Cersei Lannister?" The lioness may be a witch, but her form is pleasant enough to excuse her behaviour – at least that is the impression Lyanna has formed after observing said lady for a short while. Males – and arguably, even some women – tend to forget she's human and place her on a pedestal. Why should the Prince be any different? "Even in stories the hero always chooses the most beautiful woman in the land."

"Which happens to be Cersei?" Catelyn asks, dubious at best. But she does pull Lysa away. "We'll leave you for now, but that doesn't mean we won't be back on the morrow to help you prepare."

Lyanna nods solemnly.

ii. Cersei is a bit of a peacock, as far as Lyanna is concerned. But it cannot be denied that she does look magnificent. Crimson looks very well on her and the threads of gold are nothing to be scoffed at either. There is an assured smirk on her face as her green eyes look over each and every member of the competition. The Lannister maiden seems to be asserting her position. Lyanna dearly wants to drop her chalice of water right about now. How bad would it be if Cersei's hair ended up a wet mess?

"Don't," Barbrey hisses, gripping Lyanna's arm.

"Don't what?" Lyanna snaps at her, pulling herself away. Why does everybody think she needs their advice? How bothersome. She fights back the desire to splash the water all over Barbrey – the nosey creature would deserve it. "Shouldn't you be packing by now?"

"You shouldn't have bothered to unpack at all," Barbrey gives the parting shot and walks away.

Lyanna is unimpressed. She just wants her day to come already so she can go back home. This has been her fondest wish for the past week. Only a few more days, she convinces herself. It hardly signifies. The she-wolf smiles serenely.

iii. The palace's garden is a lovely place. Lyanna would have noticed this much earlier, yet her first visit was marked by the desperate search for her brooch. Which is not the case anymore. She strolls through the myriad of plants and flowers. It's all a wonder. The many colours and fragrances make it difficult for her to be certain which appeals more. Every one of them has its own special charm. Rather like the many ladies brought to the Prince – though Lyanna is not so sure that charm is what she should call some of the candidates' attributes.

She laughs softly and hopes that no one sees her. The young woman in not really in a mood to explain why she is having this much fun when half of the others are either crying at not being accepted as the next Princess of House Targaryen, and the other half cry in happiness at not being accepted. Lyanna does not know which is worse. She suspects both but as no one has asked for her opinion yet, she keeps it to herself. At least she can look at all this in a logical manner. Lyanna just hopes they will get over their disappointment soon and stop whining about it.

iv. There are no blue roses here. Lyanna browses through the variety of roses in the garden, but there is not one such flower as those of her homeland. The well-known red roses have a corner all of their own, as do the yellow ones. Following their example a few specimens of pink roses perk up at the approach of admirer and lean towards a gentle touch. The shyer white roses rest in the shade, petals spread wide. They are very lovely, all of them, But Lyanna's heart longs for a piece of home, for a reminder of the North. Red, pink, white – all of them sweet colours. Blue is strong.

She wonders aimlessly about the place. In another world she suspects women would be allowed to pick their own partners on criteria other than wealth and rank – and even so they wouldn't do a better job, Lyanna reckons, but at least the gaoler would be one of their own choosing. If one must endure a cage, one might as well be allowed the choice of their jailer. Unless they are not sensible; in which case they don't have any business coming together and procreating in the first place. There are enough stupid people as it is; the realm hardly needs any more.

v. Strolling leisurely, Lyanna almost wishes her mother was here with her. Not because she's anxious to hear what the woman would say to her – she knows well enough that she'd be chided until her ears rang – but rather because as the member of a close-knit family, she rather misses the presence of her stately matron, though she could do with a little less chiding. Yet Lyanna does understand her mother. The Starks are an old family, with a strong, pure bloodline and a sterling reputation of being principled and loyal. To her mind it is all hogwash – there is no such thing as a perfectly honourable family, but the Starks do have their moments, most of which are good.

As for herself, Lyanna is the first to testify that she is an intelligent being – thank the gods – with charms of her own and a substantial dowry; but she is also aware that her temper and moodiness often land her in trouble. Not to mention her outlandish love for weaponry she'll never be allowed to use tends to drive suitors away. Baratheon was braver than most up until the point she nearly had a few of his fingers cut off.

Needless to say, he doesn't come to visit anymore.

vi. At some point or another her parents have entertained high hopes of a match with said Baratheon. Lyanna supposes Robert was duped by some stories of a lovely young maiden and considering that it was his best friend, Ned, telling the stories and he was at an age to wed, he convinced himself to fall in love with an embellished image of a person he barely knew. How shocked he must have been when instead of a decorous lady he found himself with a veritable she-wolf who enjoyed any attempts at wooing far better when directed to someone other than her.

Unfortunately, Lyanna is not predisposed to like a man based solely on his looks. Robert thought his smile would be enough to charm her. When that failed, he tried embraces and sweet words. Lyanna rewarded those with scowls and threats of serious harm unless he ceased. The problem with some men is that they think women too dim to know what they want. Which is for the most part not the case. As if anyone could possibly not know their own preferences. Lyanna sincerely hopes she has taught her suitor a valuable lesson and certainly Robert will think twice now before trying to persuade a woman that she doesn't know her own mind.

vii. It was about that time that Lyarra Stark decided her daughter was meant to remain a spinster. Not that there was ever any doubt that Lyanna could be offered a good life even if she did not wed, but like any mother it still remained Lyarra's fondest wish that all her children settle down at houses of their own. "You will understand when you have children of your own, Lyanna; a mother is only as happy as the most despondent of her children."

And in truth Lyanna is not opposed to marriage. She thinks it rather heart-warming that people would accept one another with both the good and the bad and weather the vicissitude of life together.

The only problem is that for some marriage is a business transaction, and they think that just because it is the bride to be handed away, she somehow becomes a piece of furniture at the disposal of her husband. Which is preposterous. Surely it is perfectly understandable that Lyanna does not want such a husband.

Is it too much to ask for a man that respects her and cherishes her? She is not of the opinion that a relationship should be based on dominance and superiority of one party from the other. She wants a partnership.

viii. Her liberal view on the matter is something she has acquired inside her own family. Her parents are confidantes to one another, sharing both joys and troubles, and they manage to peaceably find solutions to whatever problems arise, most of the time. That is not to say they do not quarrel. She has seen them acting positively savage at times, slamming door and shouting at one another. But after the storm, the sun always comes out. And Lyanna wants that for herself – a secure place and a certain someone who will understand that while they cannot be alike in every thought, that is not so much a fault, as a simple fact of life.

If she is sincere – and Lyanna tries to be that most of the time, if only not to complicate matters unduly – the she-wolf wants a man who will truly love her, not just a man to compliment her smiles or her eyes or someone who wants to completely transform her. Love does require sacrifices, but it should never cause a person to lose who they are.

Once she meets such a man that she can entrust her heart to, she will very happily become his wife.

ix. Sitting in the shade of a tall elm, Lyanna enjoys her peace while she can. She thinks of all the persons she has met here in King's Landing and all the things she has learned. It was not a waste of her time to come here after all. There is no great lesson, of course, but there are small ones and they are many. She has made some friends and a few enemies – and Cersei counts as more than one enemy, because her brother is a constant shadow, clinging close to her and doubling her at any time he can. Lyanna finds their bond disturbing, and she feels sorry for Jaime Lannister because she can tell he has a hard time relinquishing the position of the most important person in his sister's life. She wonders if all twins are like them. Hopefully they are not.

Lyanna should be really worrying over meeting the Prince on the morrow, but she can't really be bothered. Catelyn has threatened to help her look her best, and Lysa would have worked on it starting today. Why they are so determined, Lyanna cannot tell, but she does suppose it could prove to be enjoyable if she allows herself to relax and be amused.

x. "And what have we here?" a voice startles Lyanna out of her thoughts. The Northerner lady looks towards the source of the voice. To her astonishment she is faced with the Queen. It seems to be her luck. She keeps meeting all these important people when she's looking her worst. Determined to at least appear civilised, Lyanna offers a curtsey and a greeting. The Queen is not at all deterred. "You are Lyanna Stark, are you not?"

At this point Lyanna has to wonder if the Queen has memorised all the faces and names of the candidates or if she is a special case. "I am she, Your Majesty."

The Queen barely gives her time to finish before she addresses her another question. "Are you not to visit my son on the morrow? And yet I find you here when you should be intensely preparing." The candidates have been given the opportunity to choose expensive jewellery and cloth for their dresses, everything being paid for by the crown.

"Your Majesty will excuse me," Lyanna starts, "but one would find it infinitely easier to prepare if one knew what His Highness the Prince likes." Not that Lyanna wants to please him, but she doesn't feel compelled to point that out.

"Clever," the Queen praises. "I dare say my son enjoys riding."

xi. By the way the maiden's face turns white and her mouth opens just so, Rhaella is aware that she has uncovered a secret – possibly a delicious secret that involves her son. This must be her. This must be the woman her son is so desperate to find. Rhaella has half a mind to drag her right now to her son's chambers and call for the High Septon. Yet Rhaegar would not thank her for such a direct confrontation. Aye, her son wants the woman to appear before him soon, but he also seems to want to court her. Peculiar of him, to be both patient and impatient when it comes to Lyanna Stark but not at all unlike her Rhaegar. Well, she shan't rob him of the pleasure of winning the girl's heart if that is his wish – one of his fondest wishes, Rhaella suspects, if his behaviour is anything to go by. A plan has already started forming in her mind, and she realises a bit too late that her smile must seem worrying to her unsuspecting victim – future good-daughter, that is. Concealing her excitement over this development, Rhaella takes her leave of the girl, advising her to wear something that won't hinder her on a horse.

xii. "Arysa, what do you know of Lady Stark?" Rhaella asks the lady that usually holds all important information. Not even the Queen knows her sources. "Tell me everything. This is important."

"Lady Lyanna Stark is the only daughter of the current Lord Stark. She has three brothers, two older and one younger. The lady herself is six-and-ten and has not been betrothed despite the insistence of her family. It seems that even Robert Baratheon has paid her court, but she has successfully driven him away. It is still uncertain how she had managed the feat as the young Baratheon was said to be violently in love with her."

"That one is trouble," Rhaella makes the observation, remembering just what reputation the young man has. Robert Baratheon is not a man one should consider for their husband. "She's better off for having done as she did."

"She is a particular friend of Lady Catelyn Tully, yet she has made an enemy of the Lord Hand's daughter. Cersei Lannister seems to take delight in whatever opportunity she is presented with to torment Lady Lyanna. The lady has so far retaliated to the great amusement of the other contestants."

"I like her already," the Queen declares with a bright smile upon her face.

xiii. "Whatever it is you are planning to do, don't do it," her husband advises her upon entering her chambers that evening. "And don't tell me you aren't planning anything, I know you entirely too well to be fooled."

"Have we not had this conversation before?" the wife asks calmly, not even turning away from her looking glass. Her only reaction is to blink bemusedly at the King's approach. She surrenders her brush rather easily and relaxes into his touch.

"Quite a few times," he replies dryly. He brushes her hair gently. "I wish you would listen to me from time to time. We might actually have fewer problems on our hands."

"And lead a boring, proper life," she adds. "You know, that is exactly the reason for which I do my best not to listen to you. If you had it your way we'd have no fun at all."

"If I had it my way, I would have married a woman who had the decency to at least pretend repentance when I take the trouble to chide." The blow has no effect on her. Rhaella laughs softly. "I suspect I would come to regret it," he confesses a moment later.

xiv. Rhaella takes great satisfaction in the tenderness her husband still shows her after more than two decades of marriage. She is content to be held in his arms and leave her planning aside, but she must tell him what she has found out. "Husband, I have finally found her?"

"Found who?" Aerys asks after a brief silence. "Don't tell me Daenerys has tried one of her tricks again." Their last child is at that age when she is extremely fond of hiding in the most bizarre places. And she can spend hours staying in that hidden place to the great despair of her parents and minders.

"Indeed not. I meant that I'd found that girl, Rhaegar's mysterious lady." She says it as if he's a fool to be asking her anything else.

"And?" Aerys is not exactly sure what his wife is trying to tell him other than the fact that she is going to interfere once more in problems that are not her own. She cannot help it, he knows that by now. "Allow our son to do as he thinks best." She won't listen to him. He can tell by the look in her eyes. "Very well, I'm listening."

xv. As the plans his wife concocts usually go, this one is not the worst. "So you plan to have them go riding together, but without a proper chaperone." It is scandalous to be sure, but Aerys does not worry very much. He knows his son well enough to know that he won't do anything to dishonour his future wife – if indeed his wife is right, and she usually is.

Rhaella nods her head emphatically. "But I shall send Viserys with them. That way nothing unseemly shall happen."

"Why do you always send my children on the strangest tasks whenever it strikes your fancy?" The question has nothing biting about it though. "Last time it was Dany, now Viserys. I am certainly glad we have never had more. The Gods know what you would do then."

"They are mine too," Rhaella reminds him. Usually a good mother, at times she can be impossible to deal with. "I say Viserys goes and that is that."

"I was not trying to dissuade you, my dear. I am simply concerned for my children when it comes to your schemes." His explanation earns him a glare. "Again I remind you, I shan't interfere. Do as you wish, Rhaella."

xvi. Rhaegar has faced pirates, thieves, jealous lovers, drunk lovers and maniacs. Not one of those scared him as much as Cersei Lannister does at this moment. The Hand's daughter looks at him like a love-struck servants girl does at the local smith's son. She hangs onto his every word, and while attention does not bother him normally, hers is clearly feigned. This is getting more and more exasperating by the minute. Just to be sure she is listening to him Rhaegar decides to make her contribute. "Has your brother considered joining the Kingsguard after all, my lady?"

The woman seems strangely perturbed by his subject of choice, and for a moment her face freezes in shock and dismay. "I am not sure – we have not discussed – " she trails off. Cersei grimaces. "I do not think he would be the best choice. My brother is not exactly ready for such a great responsibility."

And Lord Tywin is not ready to let go of his heir. Rhaegar gives her a small sardonically smile. There is something she hides. He can see it in her eyes. "I suppose." But being merciful the Prince changes the subject and does not torture his guest any longer.

xvii. His room has never been such a welcome sight before. Rhaegar falls atop his bed and closes his eyes in exhaustion. Damn it all, but the Lannister maiden is persistent. And charming, he relents after a few moments. So why exactly does he not feel any sort of attraction towards her? Women like Cersei deliberately try to seduce, and it should have worked because by all means she is a beautiful woman. Perhaps he should have Oberyn courting her. They would get along splendidly, Rhaegar suspects, as they are both of the same devious nature. What a fine couple they would make.

The added benefit that it solves his problem also is a great favour in point of this course of action. The Prince closes his eyes. The image of the lady he longs to see burns behind his eyelids. How strange. Rhaegar has always been good at remembering details, but with her it is more than that. There is a myriad of features, all sharp and clear in his mind.

Why won't the Gods ease his pain? Rhaegar bites back an angry curse. King's Landing is full of women, but he only wants the one he cannot find.

xviii. Mother looks triumphant. Viserys has a despondent look upon his face. Father looks like he would rather be anywhere else than here. Separately these facts would not bother Rhaegar. Together, they can only mean one thing. He glances from one face to another, suddenly wary. The only explanation for this behaviour is that mother has hatched another one of her brilliant plans and the rest of the family will see it put in action – or suffer dire consequences. A very distinct brand of dread surges through his veins.

There is something different now. His mother would normally hint at whatever she was planning, father would try to make her see sense. A short disagreement would ensue, and mother would impose her plan upon all others. But she isn't talking. She just stares at him as he takes a bite of his food. Rhaegar is not entirely sure if he should be worried – more than he is anyway.

His brother makes a face for which mother throws him a stern glance. At least Viserys commiserates with him. A balm to his soul. Rhaegar is not at all amused, and his mood does not improve any at the strange glances the Queen keeps giving him.

xix. "She did not tell me anything other than that I am to not leave your side," his younger brother discloses. "I would rather not come at all."

"I'm sure," Rhaegar says. Unfortunately for the both of them, not complying is not an option. "I shall try to make it quick, little brother. I know that not all men have as much time on their hands as I do."

"Exactly," Viserys agrees. Rhaegar shakes his head. Perhaps this day won't be so bad. At least Viserys won't want to braid his hair and put flowers on his head as Daenerys did. There is nothing more deflating to one's ego than one's own little sister tying braids and making flower crowns for him. The lady he met that day was quite taken with the little girl and to Rhaegar's utmost horror she even offered her help. It was a right nightmare that. If fact, Rhaegar still has night terrors about it.

"Come then, Viserys. Let us face this challenge together." The younger Prince gives a small nod, hands held behind him. He looks so serious. Now his mood definitely brightens.

Somewhere up above the Gods are laughing themselves at their intricate crafting.

xx. Like a punch to the head, recognition attacks Rhaegar. His eyes grow wide and his jaw slacks slightly. Now he understands his mother's behaviour, and he can see exactly what she has planned. Rhaegar is torn between wanting to hug her and wanting to rave at her. Viserys goes on, unaware of the change in his brother's demeanour.

The lady looks at him with stormy eyes. Her face is passive, but the rest of her gives away her nervousness. She recognizes him too; she must. Relief fills his chest. He thought he would never actually reach this point. At last. Rhaegar tries not to hasten his pace.

The lady curtsies respectfully. There is hardly any need for himself and his brother to give their names as she knows exactly who she is meeting. But her name is still unknown to him. His frayed nerves are about to snap. Thankfully she seems to sense the urgency. "I am Lyanna of House Stark, Your Highness. My Prince," the second greeting is for his brother who Rhaegar has momentarily forgotten.

"I must commend you on your stealth, Lady Lyanna," Rhaegar begins, "I took great pains to find you."

She gives an unsure smile.

xxi. “Are you usually this quiet, my lady?" Rhaegar asks as they led their horses in a light trot. Viserys is somewhere ahead, having reluctantly left his brother's company for the delights of a swift gallop, which he seems to be enjoying despite his vow that he wouldn't. Rhaegar is happy enough with that and would be happier still if Lady Lyanna would favour him with words. All she has done until now is to answer his questions curtly – monosyllabically is possible, if not, she makes the great sacrifice of stringing two or three words together. He wonders if his harp would have served him better.

"I am not," she confesses. He must have looked confused for she clarifies shortly. "Nay, I can be most talkative when I am comfortable in the presence of someone."

"Do I make you uncomfortable, my lady?" he questions with his best stern face on. Of course he knows exactly what she means, but where would the fun be in letting it slide so easily. To his great amusement the ruse holds and she reacts exactly as he'd hoped she would. She flushes and stammers, looking mortified, and finally Rhaegar takes pity on her. "How would one go about making you comfortable in their presence?"

xxii. "I meant no insult," she hurriedly offers, hands clenching on the reins. "I do not know you well enough to be comfortable yet." She gives him an odd look. "And I am wondering if you mean to mock me, Your Majesty."

"What would give you that impression?" She must be in possession of a devious mind. Rhaegar thinks they shall deal well together after all. If only she will trust him a little, that is.

"The horses, Your Majesty," she says. "Surely you remember our first meeting."

Rhaegar is tempted to feign ignorance if only to get a reaction out of her. "I admit it was unconventional, and I suspect you were rather glad to rid yourself of that dress you wore." She gives a choked laughter. "Am I right?"

"I hate that dress," Lyanna admits. "Well, you deserve my gratitude if nothing else. I expected something different this morning."

That makes him wonder. Rhaegar looks away from her. "Different how exactly? Were you hoping that I'd have forgotten about you, Lady Lyanna? Or were you hoping I hadn't?" He's been hoping she was as plagued with thought of him as he was with thought of her. Yet in the name of chivalry he won't say that out loud.

xxiii. "I was hoping the circumstances might have lost some of their clarity," she tells him crossly. Admittedly, getting mauled by a four legged beast is not the most dignified position, even for a damsel in distress. Rhaegar thinks she does have the right to be a tad cross.

"I do not suppose you shall believe me if I tell you I have been searching for you ever since. Perhaps our first meeting is not something the bards will sing about in their songs, but I cherish the moment all the same and would not trade it for another." It is not too much to ask for that she believe him, is it?

Her eyes widen and she looks at him in confusion. "If ever they make a song of it, I rather suspect it would be on par with 'A Cask of Ale'. That would be rather unfortunate, and not only for ears, I fear." She smiles and pulls her horse closer to his. It seems that she is warming up to him some – which Rhaegar is most grateful for, although he fights to keep his face neutral.

xxiv. "You do not enjoy songs, my lady?" Her eyes are spectacular. By all accounts they should chill whoever looks into them with their iciness. But for the life of him Rhaegar can do nothing but lean in just a bit closer. The magnetism is astonishing.

"I like songs; I have yet to meet anyone who doesn't, but I don't believe in songs. They lie too easily with too much cheer." It seems she is of a decidedly realistic nature. That's well enough, Rhaegar thinks; he shall be the dreamer and she will anchor him so that he mayn't drift too far off. "I suppose they wouldn't be half so entertaining if they presented reality."

"Just as well, they might be singing a song about the sweating sickness and I think that would turn a few stomachs at least." The truth is that such a song is apt to cause a riot in the streets. The Prince has learned that it is best not to goad mobs.

"Well, when put like that, I do prefer the valiant knight and the fair maiden," she deadpans. "You are a knight yourself, Your Majesty, are you not?"

Rhaegar can sense the trap. True to form, he walks right in. "Aye, my lady; that I am."

xxv. "And which would you say, Your Majesty, is the most important of a knight's vows? To protect those who need it? To give heed to their lord's commands? Or could it be it is most important that they show courage in battle?" Her question is unexpected enough to make Rhaegar fall into contemplative silence. She has the grace to allow him to take his time with finding an answer. Lyanna does not come any closer to him, nor does she pull back.

"All vows are equally important, my lady," he finally replies, in careful manner. That is true as it is impossible. He cannot understand why she would ask this of him, but he won't avoid her challenge. "It is left to the discretion of every knight which vow he puts first." She is searching for something with her questions. What that is, Rhaegar cannot tell right away. Does she seek to know his mind after so short a time in his presence? Clever girl.

She seems pleased and Rhaegar rather thinks he has avoided the worst of her trap. "An answer straight from the books, if I have ever heard one."

"It is hard to tell what one might to when forced to choose between vows." The Prince sighs.

xxvi. Oh, he has a way with words, Lyanna will give him that. They are sweet words, and there is some truth in them and tact as well. "Let us hope we are never to make such choices." He is a skilled diplomat, and as far as suitors go, the best of all she'd ever had. The sudden thought of Robert leaves a sour taste in her mouth. She is tempted to grimace but somehow holds herself back. It could have been far worse.

"You are not at all impressed by knights, are you, my lady?" he teases her. She can tell and for some reason it does not bother her. He does it in a friendly sort of way, for that she cannot gather any annoyance.

"Not particularly," she confesses without a hint of remorse. "Knights are titled soldiers; they have the benefit of a name, if not the dignity it should afford."

"There are many sorts of men. And most of them are needed, my lady, whether you like their presence or not," the Prince points out softly. He has the right of it, sure enough. And he may turn out to be the sort of man she may admire.

xxvii. All of Lyanna's good intentions dissolve like honey in hot tea. She remembers with distinct clarity her confidence – foolish as it had been. She should have known that the Gods would punish her for that pride. She no longer wonders why all those women cry and sigh over the Prince. Right now, Lyanna understand a bit too well the power a well-placed smile has. Has she by any chance ruined that smile of his with needless talk? She frowns, yet tries to hide the disappointment.

"Is it knights you dislike or men in general?" Rhaegar finally speaks, his demeanour serious, yet not grim.

"It is a bit of an exaggeration to claim I dislike them, yet I like some not." Lyanna wonders if she should elaborate. Yet the man seems appeased with the answer and waits for nothing more.

"I can only hope I shall win your esteem then, my lady." His laughter is a soft caress to her ears. Lyanna turns to look at him. There's that smile again.

"Why must you win my esteem, Your Majesty? What need do you have of it?" Fingers twist around the reins. She tenses slightly and a sort of pressure settles in her stomach.

xxviii. "Call me foolish, my lady, but it is my hope that your esteem would be of aid to me. I cannot imagine a marriage where the husband and wife do not respect one another." Her face shows her shock clearly enough, she reckons. "I have amazed you? Surely you knew the reason for which you have been summoned here."

For a brief moment, she does not know what to say to him. "That I know well enough," she replies in a short manner. There is something to be said about the way he can make her uncertain of her own thoughts. "My concern is not for myself, Your Majesty." Nay, indeed. What she fears is a certain large feline. "Certainly there are other ladies who might suit you better." Cersei is the safest choice for everyone, the Prince included.

He makes a show of considering her words and Lyanna almost slaps his arm in indignation; then she remembers that she can and will be dragged to the dungeons if she harms the Prince. The she-wolf pets her filly's mane, mainly to occupy her hands with something.

"Ah. I understand." Does he really? Lyanna frowns again. "The Lord Hand's daughter goes too far at times."

xxix. "You see now why I am desperate for a wife who is not tied to one of my councillors? As soon you give someone a bit of power, they think you have crowned them as well." Lyanna cannot tell how much of it is jest and how much is said in earnest.

"So you merely need an ally in your political schemes," she points out with a scowl. "You needn't wed for that, Your Majesty."

"Aye, lady, I need allies, but I need an heir more, and beyond that I can only say that I like you well enough to have no regrets if I wed you." She feels her muscles freeze at that. At least he is honest, Lyanna thinks with a small smile. She can respect that even if the sentiments of political plotting are lost on her.

"I understand." The words are not bitter, nor sweet. They hold no promise, merely because Lyanna wants to hear what else he shall say next. The filly trembles beneath her and she has to look down to make sure there is no snake on the ground. Lyanna has no desire to be thrown off her horse. She has embarrassed herself enough for one day.

xxx. Can she risk everything on the single hope that this might progress and become something sweet? Lyanna is a woman and she does notice men – despite what some might say – and she does long for something. But still, it is a risk; one she is unsure she knows how to deal with. Rhaegar seems a decent sort. Aye, he teases, but it is not ill-intentioned, and she can see something like sobriety behind that polished mask of his. Does he look the same when the bloody fingers of morning curl over the unlit sky?

Rhaegar Targaryen – her mind repeats the name over and over again as if she might glean something about the man from it. Not surprisingly, the only thing she does find is the Valyrian flavour, which is obvious enough with Rhaegar's silver hair and violet eyes. He is handsome and gallant and charming; and there really must be something to break this apparent perfection of his. Lyanna considers that. She gives him a surreptitious glance.

She can't find anything. It chafes at her. Does this man really have no weakness? He insists to wed her for reasons of his own, and she knows that if there is no serious objection against her, she – more or less – must accept.

xxxi. Rhaegar dismounts and holds his hand out to the she-wolf. They have reached a small clearing. Viserys has already led his horse to water and now sits himself under a tree. Lyanna reaches out for his hand, placing her palm atop his and it send a jolt through him. The Prince helps her down.

Her hand is small and smooth in his. This close her eyes burn into his, their full potential unleashed on him. There is danger in beauty. There is power in beauty. "I grant that we know each other not, my lady, but we could deal well together."

"We could," her agreement comes as sweet as the notes of a high harp well strung. His hand tightens just slightly around hers. They could, indeed; he knew they could. Rhaegar placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. He likes having her close.

"Would it be that much of an ordeal to accept me as your husband?" He did not say anything but husband, for that is what he wants to be for her; a husband. But who can tame a wolf, he wonders belatedly. It might be that the wolf tames the dragon. "Would it, my lady?"

xxxii. "Nay, I suppose not. I cannot think you would make a worse husband than others." She plays games with him again. Rhaegar can read through her words well enough.

"What would you have of me, my lady?" he gives him, though not without some apprehension. All the same he is determined. If what she asks can be had, then he will bring it to her. He wants her that much. How much of this want is true affection and how much is his own pride, Rhaegar cannot say. But he knows both are there and it might be that affection is winning this.

His own feelings are strange to his mind. Rhaegar knows women or rather he has known a good deal of women. But none have inspired the desire to wed until now. His desire for her is only stoked by all this work he has to do to gain her hand. He will prevail.

"Merely an answer. Can Your Majesty tell me what it is that women want most? Answer me that and I shall be your wife. I give you my solemn oath." And this must have been her true aim. Rhaegar gives her a long look. He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat.

xxxiii. "How much time do I have to find this answer?" His mind is already working on it, but Rhaegar is not sure if he can find something satisfactory, unless he has enough time.

It is for her to fall silent now. Rhaegar is not sure if her silence is meant to soothe or to agitate. He remains tense just then. From the corner of his eye he can see his younger brother has caught onto the tension in the air. Viserys stands to his feet, leaning against the tree, but he is wise enough to keep out of the way. The horses whinny. Rhaegar stands still.

The little lady entwines her fingers. She cocks her head to the side. Her eyes are not on him right now. Rather she looks around as if the trees and grass may help her make her decision. The wait is the hardest thing of all.

"House Targaryen has on its seal a three headed dragon," she speaks, her voice quiet. Rhaegar leans in closer. "Three is the number of children the King has. Three must be the number which brings luck to your house, Your Majesty, therefore it is three days you shall have."

xxxiv. Three days is not long at all. Three days is very little time, but he might find the answer. There are many women in King's Landing, the Gods know, but what do they ever speak of if not about silks and lace and other things Rhaegar ignores when he can. The problem is that while Rhaegar may know what women like, he knows not what they truly want.

Cersei Lannister for example wants power more than she wants anything else. Catelyn Tully desires above all to do her duty, or so it seems. His own mother wants to shape the lives of all her children in little mirrors of perfection. Other women wanted a family, some dreamed of love and others wanted to hold steel in their hands. Aye, he'd met that kind of women too; they brandish their steel before them and claim they are better than their silk wearing sisters; as if it is a matter of martial knowledge and not of inner configuration. Neither silk, nor sword makes a woman. Her own heart gives her valour – or not, as the case may be.

Well, it seems he has found himself a challenge that might turn his hair a dull white.

xxxv. Rhaella laughs lightly and sits down next to her son. "I never thought I would see the day when you came to me and asked for my aid." There is nothing that suggests he ought to be ashamed. Rather his mother gives him a wide smile. "I knew I liked this lady of yours. She has a right head on those shoulders."

"Aye, she does," Rhaegar grumbles. It is already the second day and he is not at all closer to finding his answer. It seems that no one really knows what women want, not even women. How that is possible, Rhaegar cannot tell. But there it is. "Yet I would like it more if she was easier won."

"Nonsense," the Queen contradicts him. "You would have won too easily. It does you good to face a challenge every now and then. The girl did well." Rhaegar almost groans. He won't be getting anything out of his mother, it would seem. "Since you are my son, I shall grant you this, what women want is not material and it cannot be bought, though some try to sell it."

That is not helpful, Rhaegar complains in his head. Not helpful at all.

xxxvi. Arthur nearly shallows his wine wrong. With some difficulty he manages to free his mouth without wasting one drop of the sweet wine. "She's leading you a merry dance, that one," he finds himself saying. It would be a lie to say he does not enjoy it, though, as he can tell the woman fully intends to wed him. Had she wished to rid herself of him, she would have given him no time at all. "You ought to take care not to pierce yourself with those thorns of hers."

"It's too late for that," Oberyn comments dryly. "Our Rhaegar has already pricked himself. Wolves are not household pets, Princeling." He mocks good-naturedly and pokes fun until Arthur levels a glare towards him. "Well, I did tell you my sister's gentle wit would have suited you better."

"You told me no such thing," Rhaegar disagrees. "And Elia would not have been happy with you if you had. Didn't she say you ought not to think too much or you might hurt yourself on that sharp wit of yours?"

"Enough you too," Arthur stops them. "This won't help you find your answer, amusing as pummelling Oberyn would be."

To this Rhaegar agrees with a quick nod of his head. "I know. I know."

xxxvii. The King takes a good mouthful of his wine and gives his wife a hard stare. "You mean to tell me you gave him no answer?"

"I gave him an answer," his wife says. "It is up to him to make out the meaning of it. I refuse to believe my son has not enough wit to figure out the answer to the girl's question."

It had been cleverly done, Aerys will confess to that any day. The girl will make a good queen. "This is not about his wit. It is about your refusal to help." His hand slaps against the table. "What is your aim with this, woman? Do you want him to lose this challenger and take off to the North after the girl?"

This is the last thing he needs.

"Oh, hush!" she reprimands. "I have made sure he will find this answer he seeks. I am not so cruel as all that." Her husband looks dubious and Rhaella's face reddens. "He is my son too. I want his happiness as much as you – if not more."

"Then do something to ensure it," Aerys tells her, his tone brooking no argument. His finger points at her, "And do not try one of your schemes. Promise me."

She means well, his wife does, yet she has this talent of complicating matters.

xxxviii. Cersei snaps her teeth at Lyanna. "You are a fool," she tells the she-wolf. "You had your chance and instead of taking it, you squandered everything. I ought to thank you." Green eyes glare her way, lit by malice. "Well done, my lady, well done! I shall toast to your folly."

"Ye of little faith," Lyanna replies with a smile. "I am certain the Prince will have no trouble with the task I've given him."

Blonde hair glints in the sun. "It hardly matters if he succeeds or not. Rhaegar Targaryen will hardly want you. You have caused him too much trouble already."

"I little knew you are the voice of the Prince," Lyanna quips. "If His Majesty will no longer have me, then he shall tell me himself, my lady. I need not hear it from your lips, nor will I accept it unless the words are his."

Cersei snorts. She does look lovely in this light. "Think what you will." Her slender, tall form glides away and not for the first time Lyanna wonders why the Gods have seen it to bless such a wicked witch as Cersei Lannister with angelic looks.

The she-wolf sneers and hopes the lioness trips over the hem of her skirts. That would serve her well.

xxxix. Lyanna Stark waits for him in the gardens. How fitting. Rhaegar watches the flowers in full bloom a moment longer. The Seven know he is scared of this, though he won't admit to it out loud. Arthur rolls his eyes and Oberys grins. They shoo him away with japes. Well, he has found an answer and he can only hope the lady will like what she hears.

There are roses, lilies, orchids, carnations, irises, hyacinths; he passes them all by because the Stark girl sits comfortably under a tall tree on a stone bench. She smiles at his approach. Rhaegar finds himself mirroring her expression.

"Your Majesty," she greets him, "have you come with the answer then?" She stands to her feet so as to go properly about her obeisance.

"My lady," he returns with a bow. "Indeed, I have brought the answer you are so desirous of hearing."

"Very well then." She waits for him to speak.

Rhaegar holds his hand out, wondering if Lyanna will give him this. She does. Slim fingers brush over his palm. She seems content to allow him these few minutes. There is kindness in there too. Does she want him to succeed? Does she not? "What women want most, my lady, is nothing less than freedom."

xl. Her eyes grow wide. Lyanna lets out a short breath, her fingers curling around his wrist. She steps closer – it is really just half a step. "Very well, you have the right of it." Her gaze falls down. "As per our agreement, I shall be your wife."

"Only if you wish it." The words take her by surprise. Lyanna looks back at him. Her eyes question. "I have said it already, women want freedom. So I give you your freedom, my lady. You have a choice to make." He drops her hand. "You may remain by my side as my wife and one day you be my queen. I can promise you kindness and respect. If not, you may return to your home and I shall not burden you."

Lyanna considers her options. Oh, her mind is half made up already. She smiles again and takes his hand back with hers. "Then it is my choice to remain by your side, Your Majesty."

His face breaks out in a smile and Lyanna can do nothing but squeal when he lifts her in his arms. Twining her arms around his neck, Lyanna does her best to hold on to him as his lips meet hers. "I'm glad, my lady."

 


End file.
